


Catch It Like a Butterfly

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: For a second, Eliot was afraid that she was going to say it, was going to cast it out into the middle of the room where none of them could ignore it.'Eliot had another nightmare,’maybe. Or,‘Eliot dreamed about killing someone and woke up crying again.’Though, knowing Parker it would probably be something like,'Eliot was afraid he would hurt us if he stayed so he came out here to sit with the knives instead, which seems kind of dangerous and counterproductive, but I know they’re like his pets.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> So sweet **Hazel_Athena** prompted me for some Leverage OT3 on Tumblr and I was pretty happy with the way this turned out so I decided to put it up here, too. Enjoy, babes!!

They all had pasts, every one of them. They didn’t always lurk just behind Alec or Parker’s backs, breathing hot down their necks the way Eliot’s sometimes did to him, but they were still there, in the chip on Alec’s shoulder that he couldn’t quite shake, that desperate need to prove he could be more than he was that still drove him to danger and distraction from time to time; in the way that Parker hoarded food, whole boxes of cereal and granola bars hidden in bizarre places all throughout the loft that Alec and Eliot were careful not to mention. Parker was the quintessential thief so it was unlikely that she had missed their stumbling over her caches, but they didn’t say anything about it and neither did she, because they all understood that allowing each other these little eccentricities was part of why they worked. It wasn’t preserving a fiction so much as it was quietly respecting a past reality, and they all made concessions for each other to that end.

They never mentioned Parker’s secret snack stashes, and they went out of their way sometimes to remind Alec that he was more than enough as he was, and they let Eliot sleep on the side of the bed nearest the door on top of the covers. This was partially because Alec was a shameless blanket hog and Parker was a living furnace, and partially a concession to Eliot’s desire to place himself directly in front of the people he loved on the easiest path to the violence, but mostly it was so that when the gaping maw of all the terrible things Eliot had done in his life snapped a little too close in the night, he could slip away quietly without waking anybody up and spend some time wrestling those wild instincts of his back into complacency.

None of which explained why he was currently stirring a little saucepan full of hot cocoa at three in the morning while Parker munched happily on a heinously stale sleeve of Chips Ahoy cookies and casually didn’t mention the way that Eliot stalked around the kitchen like a predator, all banked violence with sweat down his back and making his hair curl at his temples. After a few minutes of thoughtful chewing, while Eliot carefully apportioned a dash of cinnamon and a splash of true vanilla extract into the velvety liquid in front of him, Parker said easily, “You can wake us up, you know.”

Eliot felt it like a blow, flinching with his whole body and trying his best not to duck away from her, all of his bones still rattling under his skin with the sense-memory of hit after hit after hit. He swallowed, thick, and tucked a stray lock of hair - just past his jaw, now, and finally long enough again to tie most of it up - back behind his ear.

"Don’t see how that’d do anybody any good,” he muttered gruffly, stirring methodically at the hot cocoa in the pan. There was a soft susurration, the kind of gentle shift that indicated Parker had probably shrugged, and then she took another loud, snapping bite of her cookie.

“You can, though,” she said around a mouthful of the driest dough known to man. It made Eliot queasy just think about it - Chips Ahoy, honestly. “’S what family is for, Alec says.”

Something light and warm flared to life in Eliot’s throat and he couldn’t help but smirk a little, fond. She did that, sometimes, Parker. Just said whatever was in her head like it was an incontrovertible truth. _Family._ Eliot sighed.

“It ain’t a big deal,” he assured, a little gentler. Behind him, Parker huffed a soft laugh.

“Pretty sure family is s'posed to be for the little deals, too,” she offered. Eliot pressed his lips together tight, ignored the way his eyes stung at the corners. He gave a tight little nod, the best he could do with the tenuous grip he currently had on his emotions, and thankfully it seemed to be enough to mollify Parker, because she continued brightly, “How’s that cocoa looking?”

Eliot swallowed again, and when he managed to croak that it would just be another few minutes he didn’t sound too close to shaking apart, which was a small victory. There was a distant thud and the sound of long, shuffling footsteps and indistinct murmuring in the hall before Alec’s voice, low and sleep-rough, drifted, “Babes?”

“Hey babe,” Parker replied, while Eliot just grunted and glanced over his shoulder.

Alec was just in a pair of Static Shock boxers, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak that was entirely too small. It barely reached his waist, and it should have made him look ridiculous but mostly it was just endearing, especially when he shuffles over to press a kiss to Parker’s cheek and throw an arm over her shoulders.

“We have a mission or something I forgot about?” He asked blearily. Parker shook her head. For a second, Eliot was afraid that she was going to say it, was going to cast it out into the middle of the room where none of them could ignore it.

_'Eliot had another nightmare,’_ maybe. Or, _‘Eliot dreamed about killing someone and woke up crying again.’_ Though, knowing Parker it would probably be something like, _'Eliot was afraid he would hurt us if he stayed so he came out here to sit with the knives instead, which seems kind of dangerous and counterproductive, but I know they’re like his pets.’_

Instead she just said, “Eliot’s making me hot chocolate,” and left it at that. Eliot loosed a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned his attention back to the stove.

There was a certain awareness in the silence that descended. They all knew - the same way they all knew that the six boxes of Cheez-Its from their last grocery trip had disappeared; the same way they all knew exactly which of Alec’s buttons to push if they wanted him to stretch himself further, push himself past his limits to his own detriment. It was calming, in a way, and humbling. After a few seconds basking in it Alec said smugly, “Well, babe, if you wanted some hot chocolate you know all you gotta do is wake a brother up.”

Parker laughed, the funny little wheezing laugh that meant she’d been caught off-guard by her sense of humor, and Eliot grinned down at the sauce pan. There was some more muted shuffling and then one of Alec’s big hands curling slowly, gently over Eliot’s hip. Eliot glanced over and managed a little, encouraging quirk of his mouth when Alec smiled at him.

“Hey, big guy,” Alec greeted, leaning in to press a kiss to Eliot’s cheek. He dragged his thumb over Eliot’s bare hip and added, conspiratorial and teasing, “You know that when little mama over there says jump, you don’t gotta ask how high, right?”

“Little mama?” Eliot echoed, judgmental and unimpressed. Alec wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah I didn’t really think that one through,” he agreed. He straightened back up and announced with a sigh, “Well, if we’re already up we might as well reap the benefits of Turner Classic’s movie marathons. Babe, you wanna get the TV set up?”

There was a cookie-muddled sound of acquiescence and then Parker’s stool squeaked on the tile as she shoved away from the island counter.

“How long on that cocoa, babe?”

Eliot considered for a second. “Another minute, maybe two.”

“Excellent.” Alec reached up to catch Eliot’s chin with his fingers, slow and careful and telegraphing his every move. The kiss was slow and sweet and with that muzzy edge to it that seemed to saturate every experience that took place in the wee hours of dawn. Eliot sighed into it and relaxed a little more. When he pulled back, Alec smiled at him for a long second, eyes soft and warm, and then he completely shattered the moment by wagging his eyebrows. “I’ll make the popcorn.”

Eliot rolled his eyes as Alec passed behind him, giving his shoulder and affections squeeze as he went. 

_“Real_ popcorn, this time please,” Eliot demanded, feigning exasperation while Alec dug around in the pantry. “Not that dessert popcorn bullshit you love.”

_“Kettle corn,”_ Alec corrected imperiously. “It’s called kettle corn, babe, and its majesty should not be restricted to a post-meal delight, it is an anytime snack, as I’ve explained any number of times.”

Eliot grumbled under his breath but Alec ignored him to holler, “Babe you want kettle corn?”

From the sofa, Parker replied, “I’m good!” through yet another mouthful of cookie and the elegant strains of violin music kicked up while the opening credits of an old black and white film started to roll.

All right, Eliot conceded, so maybe it was more that they _loudly_ respected past realities. Either way, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
